


Follow the Leader

by soulgusttheguardian



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, M/M, Plot that probably won't make sense cos I am horrible at that, Undercover Spy AU thing, idek how to tag this, obligatory dance scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulgusttheguardian/pseuds/soulgusttheguardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in London, Sherlock calls upon John to jump onboard of a new mission given by Mycroft; which requires both of them to work with a foreign team undercover.<br/>Neither of them expected it to turn out the way that it will, though.</p><p>Or; the story in which there is too much leather and romantic tension and spy gear crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow the Leader

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. xD I will try and keep up with updates but I make no promises so don't expect anything 8I
> 
> This will develop into johnlock and bagginshield, but that won't be the main plot at all. Also sorry for all the tension in this chapter and will be in the others probably, especially the second one... 
> 
> One note; this begins at Season 3 Episode 1. Minor Spoilers. Very minor. Also zero Mary cos this is Johnlock. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also I'm sorry for any OOC xL I have a bad habit of changing between past and present tense so I'll just apologize for that too because it likely won't stop.

**-January 17; 2:31 PM-**

When John heard the bullet hit a target he was far enough away that the echo was somewhat delayed and his pulse jumped. He spun around and rushed back down the hall he had come from; between the boxes and carts he had been going through, shouting for Sherlock as he went. The tall man had disappeared into a side hall earlier and he hadn't returned since, but the ex doctor didn't let it bother him at present. His two other accompanying agents were down in that direction somewhere and he had no intention of leaving them hanging if they needed his help.

The run to the main room was a frenzy of adrenaline and panic and John forced his limbs past their limit. He wasn't thinking of anything except his two partners still down in the main room, snooping for clues about Moriarity; thinking of the lone gunshot. Either he had disposed of the other quietly, or something was wrong. Either way, the worry grew every second his foot hit the concrete until he feared he might start hyperventilating.  
He had sent them there. Gotten them involved.

 _'You couldn't have known this would happen,'_ Sherlock's annoying comment from before reminded him.

John shook his head. No time.

And good time: as he grew closer to half way down the hall the lights flickered off. The concrete below was hit and the sound made John stumble for a moment before he regained his footing. Somewhere in the main room; just feet away, Bilbo screamed and the ex-soldier wanted to say something so he knew he was there to help him. Moriarity only knew two of them were present though. If he revealed himself like this-

John collapsed against the wall outside the door frame. He was breathing heavily but he tried to suck in enough that he could keep fairly silent. Around the corner someone was muttering but underneath it he heard soft whimpering that was unmistakably Bilbo. Moriarty's voice grew louder and an incoherent shout was summoned before a muted hollow slap reached his ears and another weak wail of pain. John clenched his jaw as he sucked in another breath. Where was Thorin? He had been with Bilbo right? And where was Sherlock? His optimistic side was envisioning the detective swooping in and saving Bilbo any minute now. But his "I've known Sherlock for three years" side politely reminded him that Sherlock was most likely pissing some random worker off and now was locked in a fist fight or something equally physical that John was going to have to bail him out of. Again.

John sighed. He pursed his lips and tightened his shoulders; ready to spring around the corner. He waited though- for any sign of Moriarity facing away from the door or that he had harmed Bilbo again. The manic man was talking again and John strained to hear.

"So are you going to tell me who your little friend is? I saw you both on the monitor..." Moriarty cooed in his annoying voice and _oh_ John wanted to smack the smirk off his face. "But I don't see him now.. So are you going to tell me where he went or do I have to force it out of you?"

A choked whine is the only thing John can hear for several minutes, and then he shuts his eyes as if that will block out Moriarty's hyena laughter and some shuffling that he has a bad feeling is Bilbo being drug off across the floor. Without thinking about it, he dives out from his hiding place- gun bared and directed at Moriarty, who is indeed pulling the dirty blonde man by his hair. The side of his face John could see was colouring from a bruise and his hand looked like it had been stepped on at least a few times. As soon as John entered the area Bilbo's eyes flickered to him and he saw the relief flood them instantly.

Moriarty noticed that the noises from his captor had ceased and he stopped walking across the room in favour of slowly turning to look back a the door. A wicked, displeased smile split his face and he glared at the floor for a moment before looking up at the gun aimed at him. "Ah. Dr. Watson." He greeted. The anger was evident in his voice. "How- how _unexpected_. How did you get in here?"

John takes a few steps closer instead of answering. "Let go of him."

Moriarty's eyes spark with delight and John swallows nervously. _N_ _ot good from Moriarity._

"Oh? So you've snuck in with these two? And-" Moriarty plays his tongue across his lips in an absentminded gesture. "-Sherly didn't come with you? Shame."

Bilbo whines softly from the psychopath's feet and the hand in his hair is twisted violently; ripping a soft scream from the boy's throat. John starts; narrowing his eyes and clenching his hands to force himself to be rational. "Moriarty. Let him go, _now_ , or you won't like what is coming."

"Promise?" Moriarty practically squeals with delight.

John shuts his eyes for an instant while he tips his head with irritance. " _Promise._ " Sherlock's nickname doesn't faze him (although it is a little creepy, especially coming from this guy), and he wonders vaguely if Moriarty suspected his and the detective's presence the whole time.

Which brought him back to: where _was_ Sherlock?

On the floor, Bilbo's breathing has evened out and his face doesn't show any obvious pain, but Moriarty hasn't released him yet and John doesn't lower the gun. Out of the corner of his eye he sees something though and can't stop himself from looking before he realizes that Moriarty probably saw him look. Nervously he forces himself to watch their enemy again. Hopefully whatever he saw was Thorin or Sherlock.

"Oh, by the way John," he ignores the teen-ish tone the man uses and shifts his stance forward a few paces. He doesn't know if he looks threatening but he hopes so. "Do you know what happens when someone watches a friend being hurt?"

John furrowed his eyebrows, confused but having an odd feeling he knew where this was going. "Am I supossed to actually answer?" Moriarty nods. "Well, naturally, you would... Get angry. Want to go help.."

Moriarty interrupts with an annoying ding sound akin to the ones on a gameshow when someone is correct. "Very _good_ , Dr. Watson!" John cringes at being called as if he were a dog. "And, do you know what that would mean if, say, one of those people were hiding somewhere?"

John definitely knows where this is going.

He and Bilbo share a panicked glance but it is enough for Moriarty to know he is correct and the smirk on his face grows. John remembers the gun shot he heard earlier vaguely as the man facing him reaches into his jacket and produces a small handgun as nonchalantly if he were opening a new pack of gum. A flash of fear crosses Bilbo's face and Moriarty slowly points at John as he lowers himself so he is crouching behind his captive. His hand strokes the side of his face by his abnormally pointed ear, and Bilbo barely bites back in time to prevent a small terrified noise. "Oh, poor thing." Moriarty cries sarcastically. He purses his lips as if he actually is sorry for the fear he is causing and, while watching John out of the corner of his eye, transfers target point to the curly haired man's temple. John's stomach flutters with panic and he takes a hasty few more steps towards them. Moriarty tuts at him; pressing his nose into Bilbo's hair and curling his free hand in the other side's strands. "Wouldn't do that if I were you, Dr. Watson."

"Let him go," John pleads again; desperation clinging to every syllable. "What- what do you want?"

"I think you know what I want." Moriarty murmured back. The corners of his mouth dropped and his faux happy expression turned violent so suddenly that John was startled.

Before he can ask the next question burning at his throat, he hears something above him and whirls his attention upwards. A series of catwalks were stretched across the ceiling and one of them was trembling just enough that it was apparent someone had walked on it recently."Don't waste your breath, John." A familiar voice echoes down from it. "I think I can answer that."

John hears rather than sees the giggle bubbling up from Moriarty and swallows. "Sherly!" He laughs. "You join us at last."

"Yes," Sherlock murmurs as if it is the most boring thing ever; never mind that Bilbo still has a gun on his head. John hears him moving stuff around and glances around nervously.

"Sherlock," he calls up, voice slightly shaking.

"Don't sound so _scared_ , John." Sherlock huffs. "Just step out of the way."

"Huh? What-"

" _Now_ , John."

The doctor gives Moriarty and his friend one last look before scrambling backwards out from under the catwalk he thinks Sherlock is on; still trying to keep his gun pointed correctly. The movement above has turned his enemy's attention off of the man in his arm. The catwalk makes a wrenching noise and suddenly it is crumbling down from the ceiling and cascades toward the floor. One end catches on a box of explosives and Moriarty makes a noise of alarm just before they set off. The distraction it causes to Bilbo's capturer allows him to twist and shove out of the grip just before the end nearest him crashes to the concrete floor. John looks around for where Sherlock had rushed off to in the chaos, frantic now because who knows how many more explosives are stored in this room and maybe Moriarty has alerted his lackeys to the situation. The fire on the left end of the beam has spread down more rapidly than he anticipated and Bilbo goes out of sight.

"Sherlock!" John dashes off down the length of the catwalk; ducking and peering around the slowly spreading fire for the tall, dark clothed man. "Sherlock!" Around him the smoke is becoming thicker and he coughs into his elbow. John can feel himself growing lightheaded, thanks to all the nameless chemicals in the room being ignited by the fire. They need to get out. Now.

"John!" The voice is full of relief and John slowly turns to see Thorin coming in from the doorway. "We need to leave, now." The bearded man instructs. "Where are the others?"

'Where have you been?' Wants to play out of his lips but his head isn't quite cooperating and neither are his limbs. Thorin's hand on his back suddenly is dragging him weakly out of the main room with the fire steadily climbing at their heels.

The hall's clear air is welcome to John's lungs and he heaves up several gags while Thorin continues to pull him along. "Thor- Thorin, wait," he gasps. "We have to wait. Sherlock.. And I lost Bilbo in there.."

Thorin glances over his shoulder sadly and the longing isn't missed by his companion. "They will find ways out. But we need to hurry. Did you get the disk?" He glares just slightly and John frantically nods. Satisfied, Thorin nods back and turns away. The gaping entrance is looming just feet away from them; the green of the mountainside calling to both of them in different ways. Their pace becomes more frantic until they reach it, and the doctor collapses and sucks in deep breaths of the fresh, cold air.

"Thorin," John murmured. "We need.. To find them."

"I told you. They will find ways out."

Thorin goes off on a speech about what he and Bilbo had seen in the main room before they got separated, and John thinks he hears the beginnings of why they weren't together when Moriarty had Bilbo, but he starts to wonder if he had breathed in some kind of knock out gas or just too much smoke before Thorin arrived; as his head is swimming and his vision is growing spotty. He isn't sure how much longer later before he has collapsed and vaguely he registers his only nearby companion's voice and face above him before everything goes black. His last thought was a dry wail about why he had even agreed to help Sherlock all those weeks ago.

**-6 months prior: June 3; 8:35 pm-**

The minute Sherlock Holmes walked back into his life, John Watson wished he were dead again.

Because even though the idiot had had the nerve to show up like /this/- in a thrown together costume with a faulty accent and tried to have a conversation about _wine for God's sake_ \- that wasn't what bothered him. The detective could have waltzed in with a panda, singing some horribly gone wrong Broadway version of The Lion King, and he still would have been mad. Hell- he could have called two months ago and announced "Guess what John? I'm not dead. I faked my death so I could go undercover" and John _still_ would have been mad.

It wasn't so much as the actually faking of death, but that apparently Sherlock didn't see fit to tell him- his "only friend"- about the plan. He had left him in the dark. Left him to grieve and left him _alone_.

John sent his date home with an apologetic smile and soft hug before turning to Sherlock with a glare and hailing a cab for them. The detective didn't say anything the way home, and neither did John, so when the doctor's new flat door was closed he broke the silence. "John, I need your help."

The face he received could only have been described as someone inches away from smacking someone else.

"Oh, you need _my_ help? I never would have guessed, considering you didn't tell me anything about your death plan." John snapped.

"John, I couldn't. If you knew details and any slight sign of that reached anyone who wished to hunt me down, you.." He trailed off in a very un-Sherlock way, eyes flickering away from his flatmate. "You would have been targeted."

John blinked; his eyes narrowing just enough. He pressed his lips together to swallow and then looked away with a shake of his head. "Sherlock you can't just call someone a friend and then keep secrets from them-"

"Everyone keeps secrets John."

"Not secrets about being _alive_ ," the light haired man glowered in response. Sherlock frowned at the hurt lacing his voice but he didn't make any move to interfere this time. "Sherlock," he murmured after a moment. "You.. You don't even understand how hard things have been for me. You don't have any idea, after you died, I just.. Everything was painful. Everywhere I went was something that made me think of you. Made me remember one of those habits of yours or wonder what story you would tell about the man I had just passed-" John laughed wryly. "You know, I.. I tried to do that. To read people. I tried looking at rings and hairlines and tans and tried to surmise what that meant in the grand scheme of that person's life. But I can't do anything near what you did. You're just..." Sherlock tipped his head. John blinked and swallowed again. His hand twitched dismissively and he spun around to head into the kitchen. "I can't just hop back into your way of things. I have my own life too now."

"John. I am sorry, however now is not the time for me to be saying such things. _We_ do not have time. I have been sent back here on urgent business and in just a few day's time I will have to leave again." He ignored John's scowl at that. "But this time I want you to come with me. I _need_ you to." He saw John pause in his tea making; saw the temptation flash across his face. He joined him in the kitchen and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "John,"

John glanced up at him. He was chewing the corner of his lip and Sherlock couldn't help but find it ambrosial as he stepped just an inch closer into his personal space. When he spoke this time he kept his voice level and his tone deeper than he usually spoke. He remembered this usually made John listen closer to him; and he reveled in the way his ex- flatmate's eyes would hover around as if nervous of saying something wrong. "John I need you."

The doctor made a mumbling, almost groan. "Sherlock.." He warned.

"Don't try and tell me you haven't missed this. Missed the thrills- missed us against the world-"

John sighed. The guarded expression he had been wearing lowered considerably and Sherlock took it as a good sign. He couldn't resist smirking and turned his head just barely.

"Sherlock," John finally said; irritated only a little bit but his eyebrows were still pressed down and his lips were drawn in a line. "You were my best friend. Or rather _are_ I suposse. Of course I missed it. Of _course_ I missed _you_ ," his voice had risen in volume by the last sentence to the point that if Sherlock hadn't known him better he would have thought him angry. "Did you.. Did you think I wouldn't?"

The affection behind the worry made Sherlock's heart twist awkwardly and he stared at John; confused and unsure what to say for the second time that day. "I.. I didn't know, to be quite honest."

"Well I did."

There was more on his tongue, more in his mouth and even more burning a hole in his pocket. All the words he wanted to say and couldn't. So he cleared his throat instead and spun on one heel and promptly headed back into the living room. John smiled after him.

**-June 4; 8:27 am-**

John woke to the sound of Beethoven's Violin Sonata 5 resonating through the apartment. And if he hadn't remembered that he had not heard that in two years then he wouldn't have even given it a second thought. But, as it were, he did remember that. And the alarm in his head sent him flying out of bed and down the hall.

He stopped in the living room; eyes wide, and slowly took in the scene of one Mycroft Holmes seated with a cup of tea and Sherlock across the room- violin on his shoulder and eyes trained on John curiously. His arm had paused mid lift and it hovered over the string as the player analyzed what was going on.

"I-" John cleared his throat when his voice came out too dry and tried again. "I heard the music and.. You..." He fumbled for what he wanted to say. "I thought maybe I was dreaming or something. I haven't heard you play since before you-" Mycroft's expression grew sour and John nodded toward him stiffly, moving to adjust his sleeping robe over his tattered pajamas. "Yes. Well. Um, can I help you?"

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock carefully before setting his tea on John's table and crossing his legs. "I assume by the fact that my brother was here overnight means you two have made up?"

John doesn't like the look he is receiving but doesn't get a chance to give his "we aren't a couple" speech before Sherlock is talking. "Yes. John has agreed to help me with the undercover case you mentioned to me before."

His alarm quickly shoves the concern of that out of the way. "Wh-" John spun around and eyed Sherlock suspiciously. " _Undercover_?"

Sherlock nods. "Didn't I mention that?" His long fingers adjust on his bow and he turns around as he continues to play. John huffs.

"No. No you did not." He looks at Mycroft with a pleading expression. The elder Holmes just shrugs, as if to say "don't look at me. He does what he wants". John twitched his eyebrows; irritated to have been sold out so easily by the older brother. "So you're the... Client then? You're the one hiring us?"

"In a way, yes." Mycroft answers. "You see, someone has reached out to me with...information, and a request to retrieve something of his very important, but he could not do anything about it on his own. His best undercover team has already started on the case, but they are having no luck getting much done. They are missing tiny details that would make this easy, and it isn't their fault in any means. After all, the criminals want it that way- have been taught that way for years possibly where these two haven't. They are leaving purposeful false leads and after one or two of those.. Well, they need help decifering the information they have and a team of four is much more effective than a team of two. Besides that," he leans back slightly with a pointed gesture to his brother. John glanced to the violin player shortly.

"But Sherlock would notice those 'things'." John finished. "Would be able to offer a whole new insight into the whole thing."

Mycroft nodded and gave that odd smile of his. "Precisely, Dr. Watson."

John swayed awkwardly on the heels of his feet. "Okay. Okay. So, what are we up against?"

He was presented with a stack of folders and his own cup of tea as Mycroft launched into an explanation that John had to interrupt several times to clarify his elegant language during. Pictures and charts and paragraphs of data he couldn't understand were among the manila confines, and John worked to understand it with their new "boss"; ignoring the smirk he could feel Sherlock wearing.

**-9:46 am-**

When Mycroft left, John took all the papers and sorted them how he saw fit- going over them more slowly in his head. The procedure itself was simple (team up, sneak in, get the information they needed, get out) but John had his doubts. He knew from his time in the war that things never ended up as easy as they seemed, and hardly ever did they actually go over without a hitch. Besides all that, they didn't know yet where they needed to sneak in to find the information and they didn't know what would need to be done to get in said place. While this struggle would not be with the danger of bombs or nuclear warheads, or anything of the like, the information they were retrieving was apparently very important and potentially dangerous in it's own way.

 _And..._ John chewed at his lip. _Never mind that something like this puts us all at risk of death._

He let out a loud groan and slumped back against the couch. "Sherlock, don't you need to look at all this stuff too?"

"I heard enough." Sherlock remarked shortly from his place by the window. He hadn't moved since his brother had left and John wondered what he wasn't telling him. It was obvious the detective knew something he didn't want to share with John; to someone who knew him, at least.

"Yes, but.. I've no idea what to make of some of this." Hopefully that didn't boost Sherlock's ego too much. "And did Mycroft tell you how we are to meet this "other team" we are meant to work with?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not exactly. All he told me was that they knew of us and would approach when they found the opportunity to do so. Who knows though; that could be weeks. Depending on how long they have been a team and if they have ever worked with another team before-" he paused to make his own irritated noise. John raised his eyebrows curiously. "We could be stuck with some amateurs who will be either snipping at our heels the whole time or trying to show off. On the other hand, they could be a very skilled team who could be useful since neither of us really has experience going undercover."

"But we have experience in a field. With crime." John argued. "Handling the scene and chasing the clues-"

"That is much different than this, John."

"I don't see how,"

Sherlock huffed. "Of course you wouldn't." John pursed his lips. "Look, you do fine helping out on a closed, undisturbed place. But in a city where the ruler is the one laying down the cards against us.. Where everything is under his thumb.. Nothing we do will be unwatched, John. We need to not only be able to sneak and run, but blend and act."

"You think I can't act?" John repeated; a small smile creeping onto his lips. Sherlock turned to him with amusement dancing on his eyes.

"I never said anything about your acting. Your blending abilities however are unparalleled. You don't have the appearance of anyone out of the ordinary and to anyone but me you are just the opposite- unordinary. You don't say things that draw attention and you don't wear things that draw attention. In fact, you'd be practically perfect for this..."

John- unsure if he should be offended or not- sighed and poured himself more tea; recognizing that Sherlock was no longer talking to him as he continued muttering about John's "average joe" thing finally having a use. Something about Mycroft utilizing that from the beginning and John being too average to realize he was being exploited was muttered and John glared up at the ceiling.

Sherlock practically squealed; alarming his companion to the point of almost spilling his tea. "That's it! Genius!"

"What? What's going on?" John clambered to his feet and followed Sherlock as he danced into the kitchen. "Sherlock?"

"I can't believe I didn't realize that.."

"Sherlock."

"Mycroft has actually done something useful. And you'll be useful from it in turn,"

John laid his head back; groaning. "Sherlock!" He reprimanded. "What the bloody devil are you going on about?"

Sherlock finally (though not without an annoyed noise that said he hated people who didn't think the way he did) turned and faced John. "Oh do keep up, John."

"Difficult to do when the man I am talking to is only saying half his conversation out loud." John retorted with a tense smile. If Sherlock hadn't been in such a good mood over his discovery he probably would have rolled his eyes here.

"Indeed." Sherlock muttered. "Regardless, I know it has been two years but your ability to think alongside me was one of the things I most enjoyed about you." His blatant declaration of- what was that even? Affection?- made John blink and dart his gaze around awkwardly. "You're getting slow."

"Pardon me for not being _Sherlock Holmes_. We can't all be genius sociopaths with the ability to tell a whole life story of someone off of their _coat_. And yes, it has been two years. But you're back living with me and I have already agreed to help you; so can we skip the part where you show off and just start talking about how to tackle this network of Mycroft's?"

Sherlock smirked triumphantly as his eyes narrowed in that way they always did when he was rather impressed. "I'm going to assume that was a reference to our first day together and also skip over where I tell you how much that day still means to me and get straight to your request." He took off back towards the doorway where John still stood. Alarmed, the shorter man froze. When Sherlock was next to him in the frame he turned just slightly and looked up at him.

"Sher-" he gulped. Sherlock's silvery blue eyes focused on the far wall. "Sherlock. Did you mean that?"

"Mean what?" Sherlock droned.

John tipped his head, sending the detective a glare. Sherlock laughed. "I apologize. And have you ever known me to lie?" John opened his mouth but Sherlock held up a hand to stop him. "Don't answer that." He cocked his head just a fraction so he could look at John and laughed shortly out of his nose. "Yes, of course I meant it. The same day we met you saved my life and cured most of my boredom in the process. I also meant it when I said you aren't ordinary to me."

"Because I put up with you?" John teased. "And didn't say 'piss off', but was amazed by you?"

Sherlock blinked. His eyes twitched briefly toward the ceiling. "Exactly."

The doctor wasn't sure he believed him.

**-1:14 pm-**

By the time John remembered that he had never gotten Sherlock to tell him his brilliant plan, said man was already off on some other rant in his head and was well ignoring his flatmate as he set up another experiment station in John's new kitchen. So rather than pursue it, John figured he might as well get the shopping done. Sherlock obviously had some stuff he had to attend to alone, which was fine and something he was used to besides, but the more he pondered over _whatever_ the two Holmes brothers were up to, the more he wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

Mycroft was clearly in possession of more details than he was letting on; as some of the papers he had given them were incomplete, though John honestly wasn't sure what he would be hiding. _Could be about our partner team._ he supossed. _Why do they have to come to us anyway?_

The image of Sherlock going up to two spies and introducing himself by means of declaring one of them had annoying nephews and the other was way too obsessed with tiny, annoying details and then stomping out of the café made John scoff, and the woman down the grocery aisle looked at him funny. He cleared his throat and ignored her.

The way home was much slower going than the way into town, not just because of his luggage but he needed to think over some things and had decided not to take a cab back to Baker Street. He decided to line up what details he knew so far about their "mission".

1\. Mycroft was apparently friends with the leader of a spy network. _(John had no idea how big said spy network was.)_  
2\. Said leader didn't seem to be from London. _(Otherwise Mycroft could have just had him persuade them.)_  
3\. Said leader had some kind of information, kept on a disc if he remembered correctly, that was stolen and important enough he was sending people undercover after it. _(Or rather, was sending two people after.)_  
4\. The leader had contacted Mycroft and asked for his help. Mycroft had chosen to ask Sherlock, in turn. _(Due to whatever he had been doing the past two years? John realized he hadn't asked yet.)_ John had a feeling Sherlock had said he would only do it if he could get John to agree to help.  
5\. The criminal(s) wanted to be chased _(otherwise they wouldn't leave fake clues.)_ They were prepared for this.  
6\. The other team was having trouble with their clues and tracking them to the next place. _(So obviously they weren't too skilled, right?)_

John counted on his fingers and ran over the papers he had read. That was all the could think of right now. He didn't know much at all, he realized; and nothing about the actual case save for the disc. The other team was supposed to seek them out and then they would be able to get the rest of the facts. Hopefully Sherlock could figure out whatever it was they were having so much trouble with. And then- what? They go gallivanting off to Spain or China or wherever and hunt him down? _No,_ John chided himself. _If it was that easy they wouldn't need Sherlock and I. If the lead is fake we need to be careful we don't fall into any traps and end up dead. If the lead is real, we need to be able to find the information without standing out and without causing a scene._

Wryly he thought about all those spy movies he used to watch. Everything in these kinds of places seemed to lead to dinner parties in rich mansions in the middle of nowhere; with one partner distracting the man who was in charge- most likely the target- and the other snooping in the house. In the case of needing to kill the target, usually they had a woman infiltrate and keep his attention in check with her subtly flirting with him. John resisted the urge to conjure an image of Sherlock trying to _flirt_. Heaven forbid.

"Hey!"

John snapped back to reality and turned on his heel to see a small red car behind him. The driver was leaned over out the window and gave a small smile; the kind that was colourful and welcoming and John wondered just for an instant if he could trust this guy. His green eyes weren't harbouring any distaste or other unpleasant barriers, and nothing about his demeanor really screamed "get away". John relaxed. "Hey?" He called back.

The man tipped his head and the wind caught his curly, sandy coloured hair. "You looked like you might have been about to walk off the dock. With all those bags you'd probably drown though, so I wouldn't recommend swimming home." His voice was a bit nervous, but not reproachful. John laughed; realizing slowly that he had indeed walked all the way down the the docks while he was thinking.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Where you going? I can give you a lift." The stranger continued. "If you want." He added hastily and awkwardly chuckled.

John glanced in the direction he had come from and inwardly groaned. Instead of going home he had ended up even further away. "Um... Sure, that would be nice." He approached the car and made a grab for the back door handle, but his company hopped out and opened it for him. John carefully shoved the groceries in and then let out a sigh of relief and shut the door so he could face the man in front of him. He was mildly surprised to find he was shorter than himself, though not by much, and his ears were oddly pointed- more than most people, at least. Judging by the way he carried himself and the age marked on his face, John would have guessed they were close to the same age, but regardless of that he wouldn't have hesitated to say he was attractive at least in feature. His eyes reminded him of Sherlock's in a way he couldn't quite name, but it made him feel like he could trust him. Around his torso he wore a white short sleeved dress shirt and a fitted red vest, on top of loose black pants. John wasn't sure what to make of his bare feet, though.

"Where are you headed?" The stranger asked. He ran a hand through his unruly hair before facing his door and climbing back in the car. John circled the vehicle and jumped in the passenger door before answering.

"Baker Street." He replied.

They took off, on a roundabout path John would have never taken to get home, but he didn't say anything and observed the things in the car- trying once again to deduce from them the way Sherlock would. He had several odd trinkets and souvenir type things hanging from the mirror, along with a frog that was suctioned to the dashboard. _A traveler?_ John wondered.

"So," his driver started, awkwardly. "You live here or..?"

"Yeah," John responded immediately. The silence was uncomfortable so he might as well make small talk. "You?"

"No, I'm just here for work," the other man supplied. He seemed to have realized he said something wrong because John watched the concern spread on his face and he started to stammer for a correction. "I- I mean, uh.. I'm visiting. A, um.. A friend." He blushed up to his ears and John couldn't help the rush of joy in his stomach. That kind of face he had only ever seen on his sister when she talked about a girl she really liked. He nodded and decided not to say anything though; as it would be a little rude to tease the man who had offered him a way home.

"Where are you from? If you don't mind me asking."

Instantly John saw his openness shut off and his whole body became closed, as if he was afraid of something giving him away. "Russia." He answered tensely. His throat bobbed with a slow swallow and the doctor narrowed his eyes. "You said Baker Street?"

John blinked. He had said Baker Street. But that wasn't where they were living anymore. He felt his own face flush when he thought about how much of a habit it had been to think 'Sherlock' and 'Baker Street' together in one thought process, even after two years. But they were almost there and asking his company to turn around would have been rude as well. "Ah- yes. Baker Street."

Turns out they were closer than he thought and not ten seconds later John was standing on the sidewalk with most of his stuff, while the other man retrieved the rest. He sat them down and offered John another smile. "Well, thank you for the lift." John said. "I appreciate it."

"Not a problem." His companion answered. "By the way, I'm Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins."

He held out his hand and John shuffled the bags so he could return it. "John Watson."

Bilbo ducked his head respectfully before letting go of his hand and returning to his car; calling "good morning" back over his shoulder in way of parting. John collected his stuff and waited until the car was out of sight before glaring at his old flat door and sighing. He set the stuff back down and pulled out his phone.

"Yes, John?"

"I need a lift."

**-5:00 pm-**

"Sherlock, where did you put the tea at?"

No answer.

John turned and stared at the detective at his table- currently dissecting an arm very slowly. "Sherlock."

Sherlock made a small noise indicating that he had heard John.

"Where is the tea?"

"Cupboard..." Sherlock answered slowly; boredly. His scalpel pulled away and dripped blood on the table. John resisted the urge to flip said table over on him.

" _Which_ cupboard?"

Sherlock vaguely pointed, and John waved at him dismissively. It would be quicker to just look at this rate. Sherlock laid down his tool and picked up another from a small box in front of him- something resembling a hook on the end and John, horrified, wondered if it was a sewing tool he had borrowed from Mrs. Hudson. The doctor turned and chose to ignore him in favour of seeking out his tea bags.

"John," Sherlock's voice disrupted his search from the table; vaguely flat and condensending as always.

"Hm?"

"What happened?"

The doctor paused. "What?" He lowered his arms and set the boxes he had been holding onto the counter.

"Why were you at Baker Street?" Sherlock elaborated. John could practically hear him saying duh at the end; though the image left a laugh in his throat that he fought to keep down.

He cleared his throat and sorted through the things he had retrieved. "I got a.. Cab. Gave it the wrong address. I was thinking about getting you to help me with the groceries and imagined being back there and, well-" he shrugged.

"You could have caught one back."

Sherlock's logic made John feel a little embarrassed; but he hoped his blush wasn't obvious. "Yes- yes, I suppose.. But it does you good to go out sometimes. If I didn't make you, you never would."

"Untrue." Sherlock quipped. "I leave the house plenty. Lots of crime scenes and visits to the morgue, the Yard-" he waved his empty hand and continued to pull at the veins in the arm with the tool in his other.

John folded his arms over his chest and spun around so he could lean against the counter; the quest for the missing tea forgotten. "Sherlock that's exactly what I mean. You never leave to just go somewhere, to walk and look,"

"What would I look at? Mundane things are so boring." Sherlock asked; but John couldn't tell if he meant it sarcastically or not so he glared at the detective. Sherlock smirked. "Oh _calm down_ , John. I'm only playing."

"Right. Heaven forbid Sherlock make a joke and anyone see it coming." John muttered as he turned back around and returned to sorting out the things he had pulled from the cabinet. At least the pasta wouldn't reprimand his jumpers.

He heard the chair slide out and tensed when he felt a presence at his back. "John, I didn't mean that as an insult."

"I know." John answered softly. "That's just how you are. And I understand, really. It _is_ boring. But it can also be relaxing sometimes," he paused to push the boxes back and reached back into the cabinet; hand waving around in search of the rest that he was too short too reach. A small noise came from over his shoulder and John froze when he felt Sherlock move and grabbed what was at the back of the cupboard. They both removed their hands and lowered their arms simultaneously and then the tea was in John's face- along with a bloody hand belonging to his flatmate. He blushed again when Sherlock chuckled.

"You could have asked for help."

"Didn't want to disturb your, uh.. experiment."

"My _dissection_ can wait if you need me, John."

The idea of saying something like _'Oh, so Sherlock Holmes_ does _need me? I'm honoured.'_ crossed the doctor's mind, but he tucked it away. _Another time._ he promised himself. For now, though, he didn't want to shoot up a chance to utilize Sherlock's height.

John slowly glanced over his shoulder and almost jumped because of how close Sherlock was standing. He made himself keep calm though and faced his flatmate completely. "Right." John took hold of the tea delicately, grimacing, avoiding the places where blood was smeared.

"That's what friends are for anyway, right?" Sherlock continued. The question was innocent enough, simple enough, but the way it was said made John uneasy. The first time Sherlock had called him 'friend' it had been in the wake of an actual argument _and_ Sherlock facing foreign feelings ( _fear_ ). Now with this new case, and Sherlock being so... _open_ with him...

The ex-soldier swallowed and forced himself to laugh. "I suppose so, yes."

He looked up and met his companion's eyes; trying to ignore his smirk and failing. "What?"

"Just thinking."

"About what, if I may?" John grinned back.

The detective tipped his head. "Nothing." he whirled on his heel and returned to the table. "If you need anymore help reaching anything tell me."

John rolled his eyes. "You're such a cock, Sherlock."

**-June 8; 4:56 pm-**

It wasn't for a few more days before they heard from Mycroft again. When they did, it was upon a return from visiting the Yard, and he had made himself at home in the new apartment quite easily. How he had even got in was left unanswered despite how many times John repeated the question, and the younger Holmes just groaned and strolled into the living room mumbling about "let's get this over with".

"What did you come for?" Sherlock asked; waiting until John returned with tea for all three of them. Mycroft sipped his silently for a few moments without any indication he had heard.

"There have been some new developments I thought you should know about.." The elder brother finally responded. He set his cup on the table and reached down beside him for a briefcase. It was laid on his lap and opened delicately, as though it would break, and John couldn't resist peering over to see what was inside. Sherlock's eyebrows knitted from across the table as he folded his right leg over his left. "It would seem that our other team did manage to decode the last message they intercepted between some of the network's members, and it says that there will be a meeting of said members at the Annual Summer's Eve Party hosted on June the 12th." Mycroft elaborated slowly. He glanced at John briefly. "We obviously have no way of knowing if we were meant to see this, and if it is either untrue, or a trick."

"Was it a confusing code?" John asked. Both the brothers looked at his curiously. "Well, I was just.. If it was a simple decoding then I would bet we were meant to decipher it."

Sherlock nodded absentmindedly. He pressed his fingertips together and brought his lips to them as he usually did when thinking. "My thoughts, Dr. Watson." Mycroft smiled at the shorter man with a tip of his head. "In either event, myself and our partners believe it would be in our best interest to infiltrate the party."

Sherlock snorted. John and Mycroft snapped their heads in his direction. The detective jumped up and made his way over to the window without explaining his reaction, or saying anything once again. John frowned slightly. Sherlock hardly ever was _this_ quiet. He opened his mouth to ask him if he disagreed with the plan, but thought better of it at the last moment and just looked back at Mycroft. "So, you want us to get into the party, find the network members, and...?"

The elder Holmes nodded once. "Of course the obvious course of action is to find out who is in charge of them, and where to find him, however that begs the question of how to do such. If the four of you could capture someone that would work well, seeing as interrogations at a party may not be a good idea. You'll have to follow them to their meeting place."

"Or have them welcome one of us,"

John blinked. Mycroft's gaze slid to Sherlock; eyes glimmered with thought as the idea settled in his head.

Sherlock spun around and eyed the opposite wall. John watched the two brothers, confused, and quite interested in whatever they were thinking. His flatmate grinned wickedly; eyes blowing wide suddenly, and he looked at John so quickly that the ex-soldier jumped. "What?" He asked.

"You blend well," the man murmured.

John raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I think we already established that the other day.."

"You _blend_."

Mycroft hummed, pleased, but John couldn't look away from the sheer _delight_ and _thrill_ in Sherlock's cold coloured eyes. He swallowed tensely before quirking his head in a silent question. "John," Sherlock said slowly. "You can _blend_ with people. You can _fit_ with anyone." The detective approached with long steps until he was just in front of the couch and he stared down at John; practically _willing_ him to understand what he was trying to say.

_"You think I can't act?"_

_"I never said anything about your acting. Your blending abilities however are unparalleled. You don't have the appearance of anyone out of the ordinary and to anyone but me you are just the opposite- unordinary. You don't say things that draw attention and you don't wear things that draw attention. In fact, you'd be practically perfect for this..."_

Finally it hit.

John jumped up, shaking his hands and stammering for a response. "I- no. _No_. There's no way I am going to sneak into a group of criminals and pretend to be one of them-" he looked to Mycroft for help but the look on the other man's face was anything but in disagreement- and aside from that he didn't look like he was listening to them so much as _watching_. John didn't give it a second thought. He huffed and glared up at Sherlock through his eyelashes. "Sherlock, I can't pretend to be a criminal. I don't know what to say! If I answer wrong they- they're likely to kill me!"

Sherlock's smirk grew as his eyes narrowed. John ignored the way his stomach flipped. "With any luck, you won't have to talk at all."

"What is that supossed to mean?"

"If we can get you in the right place, they aren't likely to question you. Most people in these kinds of things don't know the faces of all their members due to how secretive they are." Sherlock answered quickly.

John blinked several times to force down his rising panic. "Won't they recognize me though? We aren't exactly faceless, Sherlock,"

"Luckily," Mycroft finally spoke up. He stood with a sigh and faced the pair bickering against the couch. "This year the whole thing is in the theme of a masquerade. No one's faces will be showing; only their attire." He fiddled with his phone as he spoke before flipping it around and showing the screen to John. The doctor eyed the costumes on it with annoyance. Mycroft pulled it back and clicked a few more buttons. This time when he offered it to John, there was a number on the screen and a name above it that read "Ferret ". John would have been disturbed by the awkwardness of it, save not for the fact that it wasn't actually a name, and therefore was probably one of the agents working for Mycroft's informant. Mycroft raised his eyebrows expectantly and John realized he was supossed to be saving the number. He fumbled for his phone and opened it up to type in the indicated contact information.

"Um, what should I.."

"Save it as is." Sherlock answered in his deep baritone voice. John decided not to ask again. "Are we supossed to contact them?"

Mycroft shook his head. "No. Ferret knows to contact you as need be on their end, but you are not to reach out to them first. This number will switch every few weeks but when it happens he or Wolf will let you know."

"Ah- Wolf? Who...?" John narrowed his eyes curiously.

"The other Agent who will be working with you." Mycroft answered lightly. "Ferret and Wolf have been a team for about a year now. They're very highly trained and work excellent together." The elder Holmes gave a half smile that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. "They will do well with you, trust me."

John chuckled. "I don't doubt that. Anyone can work with me, it's /him/ I'm not so sure about." As he said 'him', John jabbed his thumb at Sherlock; grinning innocently and swaying back on his heels. Mycroft let out a loud laugh and finished his tea in one gulp before setting the cup down and nodding to them both.

"Dr. Watson. Brother. Be prepared for your information from Ferret."

John nodded back fervently. Without another word Mycroft swept out of the apartment and an odd silence settled over the remaining pair inside. John slowly slid his phone back in his pocket before making a move to clean up the tea cups. Before he could grab the second one, Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his arm that was reaching for it. "John, I don't love the idea either. In fact putting you deliberately in harm's way is not something I am keen on doing. But like I said, it won't be hard. And if things start to go south myself and the other two agents will be nearby." The words poured out before either of them really realized what was going on, but as John slowly recognized _concern_ in the detective's voice, he glanced over and gave him a worried gaze. "What?"

"Nothing." John breathed with a shake of his head and returned to picking up the cups. "Just, you. You're being... Thoughtful."

"I am?" Sherlock asked. John couldn't tell if he was serious or not; which was apparently becoming a big habit.

"Yes." The doctor answered. "You volunteered me and then went over my fears trying to make me feel better. I'm not sure if I should congratulate or yell at you." He straightened with a smile so Sherlock knew he was joking.

"Oh," the dark haired man made a confused face and pursed his lips. "Well.." He trailed off, and looked away. John just laughed.

"Get the takeout ordered and I'll go pick it up." John replied. He carried the cups off into the kitchen and left them on the corner of the sink to clean when he got back. He heard Sherlock move from his spot towards wherever he had forgotten his phone this time; Mycroft's words hanging over the air with anticipation.

**-6:12 pm-**

Sherlock swung the apartment door open; face as unreadable as ever. John held up the bag of food and waved the detective aside so he could enter. They headed together into the kitchen, where John started to unpack the contents he had returned with. He eyed the size difference between their containers with one eyebrow cocked and his lips drawn back in a line. "Sherlock," he started, tone slightly reprimanding as though Sherlock were his unruly son. "You realize that you- even though you are smarter than most people- do need to eat too, right?"

"Of course, John." Came the dismissive reply.

John tutted when Sherlock turned to leave the area; stopping the detective in his tracks. "Get back in here."

Sherlock sighed overdramatically. " _Yes_ , mum."

"I am not your mother." John huffed. "If I was, I would have pulled out my hair long by now. Now get in here and eat all of this. It won't do any good for the only consulting detective in the world to get sick and unhealthy from not eating. Call it payback for you being nice earlier."

From the doorway Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he smiled and joined John anyway at the table to do as instructed. "Very well. Though, doubtful still that that would stop me from doing it again." John chose to ignore him in favour of ducking his head to hide the approval he was sure was all over his face.

Through dinner the conversation was kept light; and pretty scarce- neither of them wanting to bring up the mission just yet. John thought about mentioning his encounter with the stranger a few days ago yet again. He wasn't sure why it was bothering him so much but something about the man- What was his name? _Bilbo. Right._ \- seemed off, and a little suspicious. He was dodgy and a little shifty, and it made John a little worried.

The thought passed though, as he stood to go and answer a call on Sherlock's phone- which was upstairs in John's room (whoever knew why was long gone). It turned out to be a wrong number, but he didn't get any time to dwell after hanging up and staring at the screen in annoyance.

"John," Sherlock's voice came from downstairs. "John I think you should come here. Your phone is going crazy."

"Coming!"

He took the stairs two at a time and joined his flatmate in the living room. Sherlock tossed his phone to him, which he caught easily enough, and opened to his new message.

**_Ferret_ **

**For security purposes I ask you to be referred to as Panda and your partner to go by Owl.**

**I will not use our names if we could be compromised and neither should you.**

"Straight to the point." John looked up at Sherlock- not at all surprised to find the tall man bent over his shoulder reading along as well. "There's more." He murmured- reaching around John to scroll down the conversation.

 

**I assume I shall see you both on the 12th then, at the party; judging from Mycroft's lack of**

**contact saying otherwise.** **Please be prompt on your arrival time at 9 pm so that we can**

**narrow down who you are and not spend so much time searching.**

**In the interest of making this easier as well, Wolf has sent over corsage decorations you will**

**both need to wear on your suit, along with masks. When the time is easiest to slip away, we**

**will come to you. Act as natural as you can until then.**

**Oh, and do not get separated from each other through the night unless specified by the plan.**

**Good evening, to both of you.**

Sherlock leaned back and grinned as John tried to decide how to feel about this. "So it's.. Started, then."

"Indeed, John. Regretting it?"

And he might in a few months, or a few days, but getting to be with Sherlock again- looking over and _seeing_ that damned look of his and not imagining it, having someone near him and speaking to him and that person being his best friend, living the excitement that Sherlock brought- that was better than all that might happen and John let out a breath.

"Never."

**Author's Note:**

> Tags have been updated for new things coming in chapter two. I'm working on editing tags on my fics for more things than just the characters and such xD


End file.
